


beautiful eyes and one hell of a guilty conscience

by tsundokus



Series: you're odd, boy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Second Person, Self Harm, Self destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundokus/pseuds/tsundokus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dean winchester is odd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beautiful eyes and one hell of a guilty conscience

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this fic contains mentions of self harm, homophobia, and abuse

you’re odd, boy. 

it’s in the way you take the free time you don’t have to make your room look nice, and the way you always make sure to keep around something that reminds you of mom, of bobby, of ellen, of lisa and ben. (fucking hell, you miss them. but you never mention it. not to your brother, not to the lost boy you took in after a cruel fate stole him from a life of advanced placement and forced him to grow up too fast. you don’t mention it to the angel, either. it’s odd.) you never mention it, so why do you keep those things around? why remember? it only hurts. you hurt enough.

you’re odd in the way that you sometimes ghost the flame of a lighter over your sun-touched skin, nick yourself with the edge of a blade, press the burning end of cigarette against the little unmarred flesh there is on your scarred, broken body. (the angel may have healed your body when he pulled you out of the fire, but that was years ago and you earn more marks every day.) why do you hurt yourself? haven’t you suffered enough? ah, but there it is - it’s in the way you truly believe that you deserve to suffer, that you deserve punishment. it’s in the self-loathing that’s rooted so deep it practically runs through your veins. 

you’re odd in the way that you love so deeply, so fully that it consumes you and burns you alive (you’re always burning. you’re always burning alone, isn’t that odd?) and you hate yourself all the more for it. you always try to avoid getting attached. connections are dangerous, they get people hurt. you don’t want to hurt anyone else, you wouldn’t be able to stand it. you try so hard not to love because whenever you’ve loved, you’ve lost and the loss is always raw and like acid eating you, because it’s your fault. (you’ve faced down more monsters than you can count, but never one as gut-wrenchingly terrifying as your own heart.) you’re odd because the last time you told someone you loved them you were a little boy trying to make mommy feel happy again, and it worked, but then she was gone and you never wanted to love anyone again. but you, you’re a lover. you’re a caretaker. daddy raised you to be a killer, and in some ways, it worked, but when you strip away the hate and the fear that was fed into your mind like a lifeline, what you get is a little boy who loves, and wants so desperately to be loved in return.

you’re odd, boy, and i could go on for hours. but i won’t. because you’re not listening. 

you’re too busy worrying and worrying and blaming yourself, and you’re odd, boy, because for someone who’s so sad, you never really realize it when you’re truly happy.


End file.
